


Lathbora Viran

by indevan



Series: A Matter of Trust [4]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 04:03:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3104891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indevan/pseuds/indevan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When his parents are murdered by bandits, Kierin takes off into the woods to try and escape them.  Instead he stumbles upon the Arlathvhen and the beginning of the biggest lie of his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lathbora Viran

**Author's Note:**

> I have been waiting to write this fic for months now.

Running.  Running.  Had to keep running, going faster.  Running since his father opened the door and the bandit split his skull open.  His mother pushing him out the window, telling him not to look back.  He had made the mistake of not listening--he never listened--and saw her cut down as well.  So now he ran.  He didn’t know if the bandits were following him or not but it didn’t matter.  His legs burned and his chest ached and his head pounded but still he ran.  He didn’t know when he was going to stop--if he was going to stop.  Maybe he would run until he died.

Voices up ahead.  A lot of voices.  He stopped and crawled under a bush.  His heart beat frantically in his ears and he could barely hear anything.  He struggled to control his breath because he knew these voices.  He had heard the stories of the Dalish with their melody accents and cruel, vicious ways.  He wiggled forward on his belly and peeked through the bush.  In front of him was a clearing full of elves.  There were these great big caravans that looked like ships.  Triangular sails cut up into the sky.  Around the caravans were these beautiful white deer creatures with curvy silver antlers.  He breathed in shakily, his breathing almost normal.

Right in front of him, he saw a small child of maybe three being handed from a woman’s arms into those of another elf.  He cried and squirmed, trying to break free but the woman only kissed his forehead and handed him a small, stuffed version of those deer creatures.

“Magic so young,” the elf who now held him said. “Clan Lavellan will care for him.”

His eyes widened.  Magic.  So Dalish elves didn’t have Circle or nothing?  He was amazed.  He looked over at another group of elves.  This time the girl being handed over was about his age, maybe.  She hugged the woman who took her in.

“Oh, this is so exciting!  I mean I’ll miss my family but to learn magic and see more of Ferelden and, sorry, I’m talking too much…”

He was so intent on watching the exchanges in front of him that he didn’t realize that he himself was being watched.  He turned to look at the first group with the little tiny mage but instead he saw a pair of green eyes looking at him.  His immediate reaction was to scowl but then he realized that this meant he was found out.  He was a non-Dalish elf sitting on their big...meeting thing.  He was as good as dead.

He stumbled back from the bush but before he could get away, quick as a flash, a hand held his wrist.  He looked down and the hand was small, smaller than his.  That meant that at least it was only a child.  Still, he had heard tales of Dalish children killing and stealing as good as adults.  He could try to break free but then this little one could alert bigger ones that would be even worse.

The elf pulled him through the bush and into the clearing.  Branches and twigs scraped at his face but he was too busy being scared.  The fear of bandits now replaced with what would happen to him here.

“Aneth ara!” the elf exclaimed.  He had a stuffed nose and it made his voice sound slightly clogged. “Why were you hiding there?”

He got a good look at his apparent captor and saw that he was perhaps his age.  They were of the same height even if he was more slight.  He had black hair that was done in a braid and wore a smile on his face.

“I’m Theron,” he continued.

“Kierin.”

“What Clan are you from?”

Kierin stared at him for a moment before he realized it.  This boy--this Theron--thought he was Dalish.  For the first time since his father opened the door to the bandits, relief hit him.  He didn’t know how long it would last but if he thought he was Dalish then maybe Kierin could get away alive.  But for how long?  He didn’t know where a city was or how to get to a Chantry orphanage.  His family lived out in the woods.

When he spoke to Theron again, he tried to make his voice sound like his. “Lavellan.”

That was the Clan the little baby mage had been going to, at least.  It was the only one he had heard.  This seemed to please Theron because his eyes lit up.

“From the Marches?!” he exclaimed. “That’s so cool!  Are your parents hunters?”

Kierin couldn’t get in too deep.  Saying he was in a Clan was one thing but he couldn’t make up parents.

“My parents are dead,” he said. “A...bear killed them.”

“Oh no!” Theron put his hands over his mouth.  He lowered them and said, “I like bears but they can be very vicious.  Do you have someone to watch over you?”

“Not...in my Clan.”

Kierin’s parents taught him it was bad to lie but he was lying to save his life, he thought.  Enough of a lie to this little Dalish boy before he could get away to somewhere else.  Theron seemed to have other ideas.  He grabbed Kierin by the hand and began hauling him towards where he presumed was his Clan.  He recognized it as the Clan who took the girl his age.

“Ashalle!” Theron proclaimed as they approached. “This is Kierin.  His parents are dead and his Clan can’t take care of him and can we take him?  Please, please, please?”

Kierin looked at the woman Theron had dragged him to.  Her hair was pulled back from her face and she was tall and slender.  Her face looked kind even with those Dalish tattoos and she reminded him of his mother.  Kierin felt tears well in his eyes at the thought of her and tried to will them down.

“Da’assan, you cannot simply take someone from their Clan.” She bent down and stroked a wayward strand of black hair from Theron’s face.

He pouted and looked down.  Kierin was amazed.  He had the type of face of someone who you wanted to give things so they never looked sad.  His pout was nothing short of potent and he had no idea how this Ashalle lady was going to say no.  She looked at him and then at Kierin and he realized that he hadn’t been able to suppress his tears entirely.

“You truly have no one to take care of you?” she asked.  She turned to him and ruffled his hair.

Kierin shook his head.  It fully struck him then that he didn’t.  The adrenaline was gone and he was hit with the realization that his parents were dead.  He was an orphan.  He had no one.

“The Clan told me to find someone,” he lied, still mimicking Theron’s accent.  It wasn’t bad, he thought.

Ashalle smiled and ruffled his hair again.

“You have, little nose.” She pinched the tip of his nose and, again, it reminded him of his mother. “I need to speak with Keeper Marethari.”

She rose and left to speak to a woman with a fancy staff.  Keeper, Kierin thought.  That must have meant their leader.

“She called you little nose,” Theron said, “that’s a good sign.”

Kierin turned to him and smiled shakily.

“Ma abelas...I guess you’re still sad about your parents.”

He nodded and, surprising him, Theron hugged him.

“We can’t replace them but we’re your family now,” he said with a broad smile. “You’re of Clan Sabrae now.”

Kierin wiped the last of the tears off of his cheeks and smiled a bit more firmly.  That sounded good.  He was of Clan.

 


End file.
